


Almost

by rexisnotyourwriter



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Death, F/M, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexisnotyourwriter/pseuds/rexisnotyourwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the prompt: Person B crying and screaming that they’re sorry, believing they caused Person A’s death. Person A’s ghost at their side, helplessly trying to comfort and hold someone they can no longer touch, or speak to, anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost

His hair is damp on his face, a mixture of sweat and blood. Tears soon join them.

_“Are you sure that’s the address?”_

_Hardy rolls his eyes as Ellie stares at the GPS._

_“Yes.”_

_He doesn’t bother to check. He knows he’s right._

_“Okay...” she says less than convincingly.Her eyes return to the road._

_He shoves his hand in his pocket to feel for the piece of paper he’d written it down on, debating whether or not to double check._

_His pride wins, and his hands return to his lap and his eyes to the window. He’s already planning his line of questioning in his head._

 

A few cars have pulled to the side, some have already called for an ambulance. Oddly enough, it’s not the first thought on his mind. His stomach is sick, but he can’t take his eyes off of her, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he did.

Ellie watches the aftermath from outside her body. It’s a strange sensation, both feeling light as air and being able to see yourself without a mirror. She tries to tell herself that the lifeless body with her face isn’t really her, but she knows that’s a lie.

She’s dead. No turning back.

 

_The drops of rain on the windshield grow larger and more frequent, falling faster and faster until Ellie is forced to turn her wipers to full speed._

_“Can I just see the paper for a sec?”_

_Hardy’s train of thought comes to a halt. He grabs the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket._

_She holds out her hand._

_“Eyes on the road,” he mutters, unfolding the paper._

_He reads the address and pauses. He looks at the GPS._

_She glances over at his face and can tell that she was right. He got it wrong._

_As annoyed as she is, she can’t help but grin._

_Silently, Hardy reaches over and reprograms the GPS._

 

He moves right next to her body, half of him still on the passenger seat. Her hair is sprawled across her face. He moves it from out of her eyes, as if it made a difference.

He’s crying. Sobbing. Shaking from the tears and the cold.

She feels like crying, but doesn’t. She can’t. Her ghostly eyes aren’t real. There are no tears behind them.

But she still feels like crying.

 

_The rain is so loud he can barely hear the device recalibrating._

_“Not a word, Miller,” he grumbles._

_Her grin widens._

_The calm robotic voice tells her to turn right at the next street._

_“Shit.”_

_She’s in the far left lane._

_She glances beside her through the wet, blurred window._

 

She walks over to his side. Well, floats. Or hovers. She’s not quite sure what she’d call it.

Her crunched up car passes through her, but she feels nothing.

He’s right next to her, but he feels miles away.

His shoulders continue to convulse.

 

_The wheel turns._

_A horn honks. Then another._

_Tires halt and skid._

 

Her hand reaches up to touch his back, but falls right through him.

He doesn’t flinch.

 

_More horns._

_“Fuck!”_

_Screeches._

_“Shit, El-”_

 

He can hear the sound of the sirens growing louder and louder through the pelting rain.

It’s too late.

A drop of blood falls from his brow onto his hand, but he barely notices.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters softly. “I-”

He can’t finish. Words fail him, and his bitter mind finds it fitting.

He fucked up.

 

_The last thing he remembers when he opens his eyes was the grating sound of metal on metal and the shattering of glass._

_It feels like waking up from a hangover, but worse._

_Every inch of his body is in pain. And he’s wet._

 

“It’s not your fault,” she says, or rather tries to say; her mouth moves, but her voice sounds like she’s underwater.

“It’s not your fault,” she tries to scream.

There’s no change.

She wishes she could cry. She wishes she could scream.

Her new form starts to feel heavier, like a cloud darkening before a storm.

Hardy hears the emergency response vehicles arrive.

He repeats his apology like a guilt-ridden mantra.

He hears footsteps approaching fast.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes into her ear as his arms wrap around her limp body.

He buries his face in her shoulder.

 

_The rain is coming through the windshield, which is almost completely gone. The drops slide and fall down the edge of the dashboard as if it were a race._

_He turns to his right and the pain intensifies._

_He shakes her shoulders, but he’s seen enough bodies to know when it’s too late._

 

She wraps her translucent arms around him, returning the hug she’s no longer able to give.


End file.
